


Misery & Solace

by theackles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love Confessions, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel, True Love, Witchcraft, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theackles/pseuds/theackles
Summary: It’s been a week. One long, painfully numb week. The days went by one by one until Dean didn't know what day it was anymore. Dean can feel the ache in his bones. He can’t move, he can barely think.He's gotta get Cas back, even if it means working with Rowena and (almost) killing himself in the process.





	Misery & Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Had so much fun writing this for the SPNCBB 2k17! Meant to post this at 5 pm but I lost track of time, but better late than never. And thank you so much to my fill in artist,[thruterryseyes!](http://thruterryseyes.livejournal.com/52364.html)

 

It’s been a week. One long, painfully numb week. The days went by one by one until Dean didn't know what day it was anymore. Dean can feel the ache in his bones. He can’t move, he can barely think. Sam keeps buggin’ him about what they’re going to do about Kelly, about finding her, about Lucifer jumping from body to body. All Dean can do is shake his head; he doesn’t know. Right now, he doesn’t care. He hasn’t cared since he carried Cas’ lifeless body from the barn, limp but still warm in his arms. He didn’t care when they salted and burned him, except for the deep ache he felt in every inch of his body.

It took twenty-five minutes for that blade to kill Cas, and every painful second of it is imprinted in Dean's brain. The look in Cas’ eye; God, it was so scared. Dean couldn't save him. Even though Cas had a mighty poker face, pretending to be brave, Dean knew that Angel better than anyone. Better than himself, and Dean let him down. 

It was like losing Sam tenfold and Dean couldn't put a damned finger on why. 

Quite frankly, Dean couldn’t give fewer shits about the world now that Cas wasn’t in it. Sure, he wanted Sam to carry on, but Dean couldn’t move a muscle knowing he’d get no more check ins, no more stupid comments from his Angel.  _ His  _ Angel. That’s what Cas has always been.

Since the beginning.

_ “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” _

Dean laughs bitterly to himself and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels the tears drip off his cheeks and down onto his hands. He takes another swig of straight whiskey, welcoming the numbing burn it leaves as it glides smoothly down his throat. His belly is warm and his head is almost fuzzy. 

Sam’s been gone for a few days on a hunt. Dean knows he’ll be fine—it’s just a ghost hunt. A simple salt and burn. Besides, Mary went with him. They should be on their way back in the next day or two. It would be a several days’ drive since the hunt was all the way in Cali. He bets Sam likes the sun, likes the memories of it warming his skin with Jess by his side. Maybe sees a few people he once knew. He’s probably showing Mary Stanford while they're there, showing her all the places he went and where he took Jess for their first date. 

Dean can’t handle the alone. He’s  _ too  _ alone. No Angel to pray to. No _ Cas _ to pray to. Maybe two weeks ago, he’d be alone, unknowingly praying for Cas to pop in for some company. Cas would say that line— _ “I always come when you call.”  _ And Dean would deny he ever called in the first place, even though they both knew he did. He’d never admit it. 

Normally he’d throw himself into the fire, the danger, the hunt. But this...this is a different kind of numb, a different kind of hurt. He’s never felt it before. Not with Sam, not with Bobby. It leaves him lifeless and empty. 

It’s the day before Sam and Mary are due home that he summons her. He doesn't know why, why he's doing it or what he thinks he’ll accomplish. But he's dumb when he's hurting and this was just another dumb thing he felt he needed to do. A plan. He’s got a face of stone when she shows, red hair and a long dress; a smirk on her red stained lips. Rowena. She smiles politely, her smirk deepening, “What do we have here?” she asks.

“I need you to send me back,” Dean says.

“Back? Back in time?” Her eyebrows arch underneath her fringe. She's curious for a moment before her expression changes to something else. “Is this about that Angel you lost?”

“Just send me back.” Dean glares, clenching his teeth together. His hands are curled into fists at his sides. They're practically shaking. “It doesn’t matter what this is about.”

“Time travel in witchcraft isn’t easy, Dean.” She tsks her tongue and glances up at him, a cruel grin covering her mouth now. “But it is possible...for a price,”

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” Dean shakes his head, “Just take me.” She could take nothing Dean would want to keep from her anyways. He has nothing to take. Nothing to give. 

“Whatever I want?” Her eyebrows raise again. “Hmm, you must want this badly.”

“Rowena!” Dean growls, coming close to her, breathing her air. “Enough with the goddamned chitchat.” His voice is a low rumble in his chest; anger is the first emotion he’s felt in a while. It doesn’t surprise him. Rowena grins at him, and nods once. She pats his shoulder as she passes him, heading over to the table where he summoned her.

“I need a few things,” she says, voice serious and low. She scribbles her list down on a crumpled piece of paper.  “Get me those, and something that Castiel has touched and I will send you back. Summon me again when you have all of the ingredients. And be ready. Time travel with witchcraft is nothing like with Angels. It’s scary, and painful.” Dean nods once.

It takes him weeks to get everything. He visits witch shops all over the continental USA, trying to gather everything. It’s a shop in Michigan where he finds the dried goat heart that his list is finally completed.

It was even harder trying to dodge Sam and Mary. He hated lying to them, but what else was he going to do? Tell them the truth? Say, “I’m teaming up with Rowena to send me back in time to save Cas from ever getting shanked with Michael’s Blade. Don’t wait up.” It was a dumb idea. Maybe what he was doing was dumber, but he couldn’t find a nerve in his entire body that cared. He needed to get Cas back. His world was a blur around him, numb and dull and aching every moment he wasn’t drowning in whiskey or asleep.

He tells them he found a hunt, and that he wanted to go alone. Sam and Mary don’t argue, only look at him with worry in their eyes. Dean thinks they  _ should  _ be worried. Witchcraft is about to throw him back who knows how many months or years. Rowena said she couldn’t be exact. He’d land where he’d land, and that was it. 

Dean watches Rowena closely as she chants, accent thick and deep as she throws in each ingredient as its time comes. Her pot starts to groan and simmer, thick clouds of smoke or mist or whatever it was coming up in rolls. She finishes a piece of her chant, and grabs a snake bone, sharpened, and hands it to Dean.

“I need your blood, three ounces of it.” She says.

Dean sucks in a breath as he slices it through his palm, feeling the snap as it breaks skin, and the burn as he clenches his hand. He made it deep. The blood pours freely as he squeezes. Rowena takes the snake bone and tosses it in, and gives him the gesture as when to stop. He groans as he wraps a piece of an old shirt around his palm, tying it in a knot with his teeth.

Rowena starts another chant, and interrupts it to say, “Get ready.”

Dean feels his muscles tense, and he squeezes his eyes closed. He hears Rowena chanting, and it begins to echo. His whole body aches. Suddenly his chest is heavy. Rowena’s voice fades out. He can’t breathe. He tries to open his eyes but he can’t see, and he can’t move. He feels like he’s screaming, yelling for help, for Cas or for Sam, whoever might hear him first.

And then he wakes up.

He’s panting as his eyes snap open, wide with worry. He looks around and he’s in an old motel room. He wipes a hand over his face and feels that he’s clean-shaven. He runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter. He’s just barely aching, but he can hear his heart thumping heavy and fast in his chest. 

Dean stands up after a moment of breathing, and heads for a bathroom. He splashes water on his face from an old faucet. He grabs the cloth hanging beside the mirror and wipes his face, before he notices. He sucks in a deep breath when he sees himself. Young again. He’s got to be in his twenties, early thirties, maybe. Rowena threw him back far. He wonders faintly where Sam is. Where Cas is, more importantly.

He feels in his pockets. A phone. It’s a flip phone, and he almost laughs fondly at the memory of them. Sam is on speed dial, so that’s who he calls.

“Hey,” Sam barks on the other line. He sounds younger, too.

“Hey, uh…” He clears his throat. God, his voice. He shakes it off. “Where are you?”

Sam laughs, vaguely. “I told you I went out to get dinner. You insisted you stay at the motel. You okay man?”

Dean rubs his hand over his face. “Yeah, uh...I think so. Do you know where Cas is by chance?” He clears his throat again.

“No,” Sam replies, “but I’m sure if you call for him he’ll show up. You two  _ do  _ have a more profound bond, remember?” Sam laughs on the other line. Dean faintly remembers Cas telling him that, a long time ago. At the time, it had been ridiculous. 

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, “I remember. Thanks.” He grumbles, hanging up. It eases something in him to know that Cas is alive. But of course he is, in this time. He wonders what year he’s in. Maybe he can find a newspaper around here somewhere, or the news channel on the TV.

Maybe he can just call for Cas and just tell him, here and now, get it over with and go back to his time. But he can’t. He has to find a ride back to his own time before he can tell anyone he’s not  _ then  _ Dean. All that will do is raise questions that don’t need to be asked or answered. He thinks about what he can do next. He feels a million things he should be doing at his fingertips. So many things.

Find the bunker, leave Sam a message. That could be something he needs to be doing right now. He pats his legs again, searching for his keys. He groans. Sam has them, getting food. 

He sits on the bed and lets time pass him by.

Sam comes back to the motel about 25 minutes later, tossing Dean’s keys his way. Sam sits a big bag of McDonald’s food down on the table by the window and starts digging in.

“Here, here’s your 4 sandwiches.” Sam tosses them. “Can’t believe you ordered 4 sandwiches. Your health is what’s gonna take you down in the end.” Sam gives Dean a laugh and glares jokingly.

Dean never realized how much they didn’t laugh anymore. He also didn’t realize just how hungry he was, either. He practically swallows them whole, and downs the soda Sam got him, as well. But he has to get to the bunker. He’s not even sure what state he’s in right now, so he doesn’t know if the drive will be minutes or days.

“So...did you find anything else out about the, uh, case?” Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head. “Nada. Seems like all the vamps have fallen off the face of the Earth. I think they’re on the move to the next town because ever since we got here, it’s been quiet.”

Dean nods. He just barely remembers this case. It was a little one, nothing too strenuous. Sam had been wrong, however. The vamps were hiding out in an abandoned barn just outside of town, waiting for the Winchesters to leave just like Sam wants to. Dean remembers that that’s what they did. They went to the next town over and everything had been fine—a robbery here, there, a shooting at a gas station. And then the killings started again.

“No, I think we should stay,” Dean grunts, picking at his teeth. 

“Why?” Sam frowns, still working on his monstrous salad.

“I think they’re waiting for us to get out of dodge,” Dean explains briefly. Changing the outcome of one measly case couldn’t hurt anything, could it? “We stay here.” He points towards the floor. “We wait ‘em out, and I bet they’ll start killing again.”

Sam frowns deeper as he thinks about it. “I guess we could.” He shrugs. “But what do we do in the meantime while we wait?”

“This—absolutely nothing.” Dean gives a half-assed smile. Maybe this will give him time to get to the bunker. “Just wait it out, relax,”

Sam seems unsure, but he nods anyways. “Okay, we’ll try it your way but if people start getting killed in one of the bordering towns, you’re buying food next time!”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Sure thing,”

>

Dean waits until Sam is snoring loudly to head out to the car. After watching the news for several hours, he finally sees they’re settled in Wichita, Kansas. It was about a three- hour drive from here to Lebanon where the bunker was, so he decided to book it.

He's not sure if Sam woke up at the Impala’s loud engine or not, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He had to get to the bunker, to explain to his Sam what was going on. Make sure Sam had a plan to get Dean back to 2017, and Dean had to make sure that he got to Cas to tell him what was going on and to  _ save  _ him before Sam brought him back to 2017. God, thinking about it gave him a headache. 

He listens to Traveling Riverside Blues as he goes down the highway, twenty miles over the speed limit. There's not a car in sight as he goes, the clock hitting 2 a.m as he passes  _ Welcome to Lebanon.  _ The bunker is down several little back end alleys and partly in the middle of nowhere. He remembers how to get there with ease, and puts Baby in park right out front. It's just how he remembered it when they first found it. It's dusty and old and the outside needed a scrub. 

He gets in easily enough and stares at everything as he passes. Sam's probably in the library, pacing and worried all the way in 2017. Dean turns the lights on and heads to find somewhere to stick a note. It reminds him way too much of when they were after the God of time, but a much more personal and screwed up situation. 

He heads to Sam's room after he finds a piece of paper. He tries to figure out how exactly to word it.

_ October 10th, 2010 _

_ Sam, _

_ I don't know what's going on in 2017 but I'm in 2010. I know it sounds crazy but hear me out. I summoned Rowena to send me back so I can talk to Cas. I can't let him die, Sammy. Me and you both know going into that mission with our heads in our ass blindfolded was a dumb idea. I'm going to try to summon Cas and tell him, and I'm going to try to do it before October 12th, 2010. Get me back to February 2017,  before midnight on the 20th. That's the best time frame I can give you. I'm sorry for all the confusion and worry, Sammy. Just bear with me and I'll explain better when I'm back.  _

_ Dean _

He folds it in a small square and writes  _ SAM  _ on the back. He finds a hole in the wall behind a painting in Sam's room. He makes sure it's tucked just right, peeking out of the corner. He sighs. One can hope. 

There's so many things he could do, with the bunker. He could go ahead and tell Sam about it, go ahead and start digging out all the files on demons and witches. He could change history, knowing what he does right now. He shakes his head to himself. He can't. Messing with things like this could affect the future. He's already doing wrong and being selfish by saving Cas. But damnit. He can't let him die. 

Suddenly his phone starts ringing. He looks at the ID and isn't surprised to see that it's Sam. 

“Dean,” Sam says after he answers. “Where are you? I got up to piss and you and the car are gone. What the hell man?”

“I'm just down the road,” Dean lies too smoothly. “I'll be back in a few. I couldn't sleep.”

“Oh,” Sam yawns. 

“Go back to bed Sammy. I'll be back in no time,”

Sam doesn't fight him and gets off the phone easily enough. Dean continues around the bunker, just running his fingers over things and looking at books that, in six to seven years, would be so important to them. 

It's three thirty when he finally heads out. He can barely hold his eyes open, but there's so much to do in so little time. He didn't want to be in 2010 longer than he had to be. 

When he gets back to the motel, Sam is starting to rise. Dean hates it when Sam wakes up early, because then he wants Dean to wake. He's too tired. 

“Did you drink all night?” Sam's eyes widen when Dean stumbles through the door. “You look like crap.”

“Feel like it,” Dean grunts honestly as he melts into the mattress. They aren't doing anything but waiting out those pesky vamps anyways, so he doesn't worry about an alarm when he dozes off.

>

Dean wakes up at half past noon. Sam is gone and Dean shrugs it off. He's probably running. After he crawls out of bed and splashes some icy water on his face, he tries calling out for Cas.  

He doesn't answer. 

He calls all damn day, sitting on the bed while Sam's back is turned with his hands clasped together. 

_ Castiel, come down here. It's Dean Winchester. I need to talk to you.  _

Castiel never replies. 

Dean makes the mistake of praying too long, and Sam catches him. He inwardly curses when Sam halts brushing his teeth and frowns. 

“Are you...praying?” 

“No,” Dean snaps. “I have a headache.”

“Cas has been incognito since Raphael put him down, remember?” Sam reminds, giving Dean a look. 

He racks his brain. Dammit. That's right. 

He growls under his breath, “Dammit Rowena.” Expect her to choose the worst point in Dean's entire existence of knowing Cas. He doesn't know if he'll make it out of here before the 12th, now. He has to. 

Sam doesn't notice Rowena's name, and continues brushing. 

>

Dean hardly sleeps, he's praying so much. To an Angel who might not even be there. He effortlessly and mindlessly kills vamps. He doesn't owe Sam food, but he buys it for them anyways. Sam eats like he hasn't in a year. Dean can barely pick at the juicy red meat on his plate. It should make his mouth water. But it doesn't. Tomorrow is the deadline, and he still hasn't heard any sign of Cas. 

Sam clears his throat from across the table. “Why are you trying to get ahold of Cas so much? Is there something I should know about?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nothing that would interest you, Sammy.”

“Tell me anyways.”

It's like he's talking to that nosy middle schooler all over again. He sighs and rubs a hand down his face. He's so tired. Still so achy from the flight. He shouldn't tell Sam. He really shouldn't. What would that do to the outcome? He's not sure. Maybe it won't matter at all. Maybe the world will end. Who knows. 

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,”

Sam lets out a whole hearted laugh. “Wanna bet?”

Dean swirls his water around in the glass but doesn't take a drink. The diner they're in is greasy and sells bad beer. The waitress is older and there are men being too loud at the bar. 

“I'm not...Dean.” He shakes his head. No. That was the wrong way to put it. Before Sam can speak up, he continues. “Not your Dean. Not 2010 Dean.”

“Wait—what?” Sam frowns. “You're lying.”

Dean sighs. “No, Sam. I'm not. I'm from the front end of 2017.”

Sam's excitement shouldn't surprise him, but it does. “Really? How—how did you get here? Why are you here? Do we…do we get away from Lucifer?”

Dean shakes his head. This was a bad idea, but there's no turning back now. 

“A witch named Rowena sent me here, because I asked her to. Because Cas gets killed. For good killed, and I can't let it happen. No. We don't get away from Lucifer.” The disappointment in Sam's eyes breaks Dean's heart, but he pulls through. “I need to find Cas.”

“Oh.” Sam nods. “Well, I haven't heard from him in several days.”

“I know. Rowena sent me to a bad time to get to him,” he complains. “2017-you is going to be flyin’ me back in before midnight.”

Sam nods. “Maybe we can summon him.” 

Dean hadn't thought of that. Why didn't he think of it? God. “We need a summoning spell specifically for Angels to do that, Sam. And I don't know any,”

Sam shrugs. “I'm sure me and Bobby can find one.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, Sam. I wasn't even supposed to tell you about this. Who knows what it's going to do to my time. Bobby doesn't need to know either.”

Sam frowns. “Then I'll do my best to find it on my own.”

Dean doesn't know how Sam did it, but dammit, he finds one. They have all the ingredients within a few miles and they can get this done soon. They head back to the motel and set everything up. Sam is skilled when he mixes the ingredients together and follows the summoning ritual. The words roll off of Sam's tongue easily, and as he throws the last ingredient into the bowl, it lets off a cloud of smoke into the air. 

Dean watches the enochian sigil they drew on the floor. He waits… ten seconds, twenty, thirty. A minute passes before he can blink. Cas doesn't come. He doesn't show up. It pains Dean somewhere deep in the gut. Cas is either still dead or ignoring him. Why did he ever believe that this would work in the first place? Every ounce of hope is gone in that moment. It fades away to nothing. Desperation. Helpless. 

Dean collapses on his bed long after Sam had fallen asleep and tries not to scream, to punch, to cry. He's mere hours from losing this chance of saving his...his Angel. He needs air. The motel room is suddenly too stuffy to breathe. He escapes for the door with stumbling feet. When he shuts the door quietly behind him, the outside air that is fogged with pollution seems to be no better. He feels like he can barely breathe through the anxiety and the anger and the misery. He leans against the side of the building and tries not to give up. He can't. 

He hears the light flutter of wings before he hears his gravelly voice, somewhere behind him. 

“Hello, Dean,”

Dean gasps and turns so sharply he almost falls. Cas is…Cas. A bit thinner, in his old tie. Jimmy Novak’s body is younger. Cas is younger. A different Cas, but one Dean remembers and knows. He's familiar and it makes Dean want to run up and hug him. Never let go, maybe. 

“Cas.” Dean shudders at the name. Goosebumps rise on his skin. “I've been trying to get to you.”

“I know. I heard your prayers,” Cas says easily, frowning deeply. “You're agitated and nervous. What's wrong, Dean? Is Sam okay?”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam's fine. Hell, Sam's great.” He lets out a crude laugh. “I needed to talk to you.”

“I noted that. I am sorry I'm late to the summoning. I had to finish some things up in Heaven.”

Dean shakes his head. “None of that matters. What matters is you're here now.” He sucks in a breathe. What does he say? “Look, Cas. I'm not 2010 Dean. A witch named Rowena sent me back here because you die, and I can't let that happen,” He cuts straight to the point. 

Cas’ eyebrows furrow and he chuckles. “I've already died, Dean. I'm fine. I sensed that you're from a different year before you spoke.”

“Damnit, Cas. Listen to me,” Dean growls, taking steps forward mindlessly. “In my year, in 2017, you come with me and Sam on a mission. You get stabbed. There was no cure. Just hear me out. Listen to me!”

“I am listening, Dean.” He didn't realize how close he was. Cas’ breath hits his face as a soft gray cloud in the cool air. Cas is firm as stone and heat is radiating off of his body. 

“You die, really die,  and it's killing me. Don't go with us. Please,” Dean begs, eyes searching Cas’. He looks at his watch. Minutes. Sam was definitely giving Dean the benefit of the doubt. “My Sam is going to zap me back any minute now. I just…”

Dean's hand grabs Cas’ shoulder. 

“Before you died, you said you loved me, that you loved all of us. I took you for granted. I didn't realize it before you were gone…” Dean's voice is like gravel with remorse and sorrow. Cas listens intently and just barely leans into Dean's touch. “I love you, Cas,” he forces out. Cas’ eyes twinkle in the moonlight. Dean takes the very last seconds to just look at him. Cas doesn't say anything. Dean wants him to say  _ something. Anything.  _ He only looks at Dean, eyes searching. 

Dean's falling again. His chest is aching and he can't breathe. He can't see. His eyes are screwed shut. He's screaming again. And then he collapses on the floor of the bunker, heaving and eyes wide. He looks up and sees Sam and Rowena. 

He looks around. He sees no Angel. He clenches his jaw as the tears start to bite the back of his eyes. He can't hold the loud “Dammit!” that escapes the deep pit of his chest. He slams a fist into the floor but it does nothing but ache. “I failed…” he chokes out. One more on the list. One more person that he loved to jot down. 

“Dean,” Sam says solemnly. He steps back just like its rehearsed. Cas steps around the corner of the hall in one of Dean's shirts. His hair is erratic. Dean can't place the deep throb that resonates through his entire being when he sees him. It's like a magnet.  Sam smiles down at Dean, still on the floor. “You did it. I don't know what you did or how you did it, but…” he shakes his head with a laugh. “You did it, man. Your dumb idea actually worked.”

Rowena gives him a hand up and purrs in his ear, “We’ll let you two talk. There's a lot to say, I bet.” She winks at Dean as she passes him, a sly grin over her red lips as Cas steps into the room. 

They both disappear into the library as Cas stands front and center. He smiles, big and wide with white teeth. He looks good. Fine. Like nothing ever happened. Dean feels accomplished. Relieved. So many other things he can't put words to. Cas raises his arms in a “how do I look?” motion. 

“Cas,” Dean chokes out. He doesn't realize he's crying until he can't see through the tears. 

“You went all the way back to 2010 for me,” he laughs breathlessly. “I remember it. All those years ago.” Cas is so much more human now, despite having his grace back. His taste of humanity is palpable, and he’s different from the Castiel Dean just saw. Cas is  _ Cas,  _ Dean’s Cas.

Dean nods. “I couldn't let you slip through my fingers. Not for good.” He chokes, “You've died and come back so many times I started taking you for granted. God, I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

Cas is hugging him in an instant, and Dean is only hugging him tighter. “Ever since I raised you from perdition I knew you would realize our bond eventually.” Cas breaks away, just barely shorter than Dean. Dean doesn't have words to say. He's never been romantic or has known how to talk about his feelings. Cas doesn't seem to mind the lack of words. He places his hand with fingers spread over that familiar place on Dean’s shoulder. From the touch, Dean can feel an ache he remembers like it was yesterday. The site burns at the touch of the fingers from angel who put it there. “Dean Winchester. I have always loved you. When I saved your soul from Hell, you were broken and begging to be fixed. Even raw and angry and broken, I loved you, and you've no idea the happiness it brings me to hear it back. Even seven years ago,” 

Dean laughs. “I'm sorry, Cas,” he doesn't know what he's apologizing for. But he is. For letting Cas down, letting him die in the first place. He has nothing else he can say. 

Cas hugs him again, and all Dean can do is take in the scent of him. Rain and something bittersweet. Something so very Cas. It brings Dean to a home he never knew he had, or wanted. Something different than a bunker, or family. Something he never found; not in Lisa or Jo or any fling. That dull ache in his entire being soothes as Cas holds him, as tight as Dean is holding him back. 

Dean lets out an involuntary cry into Cas’ shoulder. He begs Sam and Rowena don't hear. He cries silently with ragged breaths when Cas tells him those words. Three broken words, over and over. Dean whispers them back. 

Maybe he has something to live for yet. 


End file.
